


We Don't Have To Take Our Clothes Off

by serein



Series: The Ella Eyre Stories - Broken Hearts and Broken Words [1]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bayern München, Borussia Dortmund, F/M, FC Schalke 04, German National Team, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 15:35:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2234289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serein/pseuds/serein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Benedikt tries to teach Manuel that it isn't always about pleasure, or sex, or even love.<br/>In all honesty, it's about just having someone there.<br/>Someone who cares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Don't Have To Take Our Clothes Off

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tempered_rose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tempered_rose/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Pausenclown's Boyfriend](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1936128) by [tempered_rose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tempered_rose/pseuds/tempered_rose). 



> Disclaimer: I, obviously, do not own these characters (though I wish I could because, admit it, they are all extremely attractive ;).
> 
> Set to "We Don't Have to Take Our Clothes Off" originally by Jermaine Stewart but covered by Ella Eyre.  
> You can find it [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RdwT2RQcarQ).  
> It's far more vulnerable and honest than the original, so I recommend you listen to that version while you read :)

* * *

_Not a word, from your lips_  
_You just took for granted that I want to skinny dip._  
_A quick hit, that's your game._  
_But I'm not a piece of meat, stimulate my brain._  
_The night is young, so are we._  
_Let's get to know each other, slow and easily._  
_Take my hand, let's hit the floor._  
_Shake our bodies to the music._  
_Maybe then you'll score._  
\- Ella Eyre, We Don't Have to Take Our Clothes Off 

Sitting at the bar, Manuel Neuer is depressed.

No, not depressed. Just...slowed down. The problem with slowing down is that when he slows down, he has time to think. Time to think about all of the _what-ifs_ , which makes them as dangerous as anything.

It's not like he's being unreasonable-rather it's life that's the one that doing all things wrong.

Why did Philipp dump him?

Was he not good enough for him? Not attractive enough? Not wealthy enough? Not...there enough?

It wasn't his fault that he liked to work. At least not the first nine hours. Nine hours was pretty reasonable, right? Nine hours was just an hour more than the normal workshift, which is good, right? Extra hours means more money and better favors from the boss...

The last two and half he couldn't really explain.

Then again, sleeping at night without the AC working can be really distracting, especially when you only get four hours each night.

It kind of makes sense, even if Manuel doesn't understand why it happened.

Get over yourself, you pathetic fool, nagging voices in his head whisper. Phillip was just a guy. Nothing more. Nothing less. He could have had herpes or been into weird fetishes so you should be proud of yourself for picking a boyfriend that was both clean of sexual infections _and_ a need for tying Manu up and shoving him in a broom closet.

Kevin had already made him go through the latter, and he wasn't planning on doing it again.

The bartender doesn't even mind trying to strike up conversation with Manuel even though he's the only one here at eleven o'clock at night while everyone else is at Thomas' party. Why he didn't go was another question-it wasn't as if he couldn't dance, or something (that's what he thought, at least). Perhaps he didn't want to see that Thomas was now _married_ to the man of his dreams, one Miroslav Klose, while he, the older, more mature, more composed one was still desperately clinging onto the final coattails of a failed relationship. Perhaps it was that, or maybe it was just that he was tired.

"Another scotch, please. On the rocks." Manuel gestures slightly vaguely to a row of alcoholic drinks to the side of the bar, which glow in the faint neon light from the storefronts across the street which read anything from _Free Haircuts on Sunday_ to _In need of entertainment? Call The Bar Girls for the best night of your life!_ He finds it ironic that there are signs for hookers next to a small daycare set up by the frail little Frau Kahn, who happened to be the famous baker Oliver Kahn's mother. At least his own mother wasn't like that-his own mother was back in Gelsenkirchen, which was a relief because of the good 600 km distance between Gelsenkirchen and Munich. The bartender complies, slightly worried about Manuel and why he is here. They are old friends; the bartender and himself stretch all the way back to primary school, where they had hoped to become soccer stars.

Neither had gotten through to Bayern, or Dortmund, or Schalke, or even Stuttgart, which was kind of an insult.

Manu had wished to be a midfielder.

They had told him he would be more fit to be a goalkeeper. A goalie, some like to call it.

A goalie.

Somebody who defends the home base. His own home base was his heart, and it was being tugged apart and scarred and broken, no matter how careful Manu was.

Perhaps he would have been a good goalkeeper.

Because a goalkeeper protects for the team, not just for himself.

"Are you okay, Manu?" The bartender's dark eyes peer into Manu's illuminated blue ones, searching for some confliction, some sort of sign that will tell him _no, please take care of me. _He finds only hurt.__

But Manu denies it, staring back into the depths of the bartender's as if telling him _please don't ask again_.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

"Why aren't you at Thomas' party?"

Once the bartender has said it aloud, a sad truth arrives, a truth that Manu knew had existed but did not acknowledge.

He was alone. He was different. He was separate, no matter how hard Thomas had tried to make him feel as if he was united with everybody else.

Nevertheless, he fakes a small smile and continues.

"How did you know about Thomas' party?"

"Half of Munich is at Thomas' party."

"Sad but true."

Taking a reproachful sip out of the glass, Manu watches as the bartender contends with himself what to say, fidgeting slightly, a nervous habit he has had ever since he was a young boy.

"What happened with Philipp?"

Again, Manu's taken aback. How much does the bartender know about him?

"We...separated."

"Well, obviously, because if you didn't, you should either be here eating each other's faces or at his house, doing...other things."

Manu glances at the bartender, hesitating. At the bartender's slight but encouraging persistence, he continues.

"We decided that we weren't fit for each other."

"Don't give me that shit, what happened?"

"He slammed the door and said that I would rather marry my paperwork than him."

"Were you that bad?"

"I work eleven-and-a-half hours a day."

"Ouch."

"Yeah, I think I deserve it a little."

The men are quiet after a little bit, each to his own thoughts of doubts about life and love and what it means to live and love.

The silence is cruel yet comforting, as it soothes the wounds but intensifies the chants of _what-ifs_.

And then, the bartender realizes, Manu is crying.

Watching the silent, cool tears cascade down Manu's face is degrading and heartbreaking-there is an unbearable need to comfort him.

Grabbing a bar napkin, the bartender gently wipes Manu's tears, whispering words of comfort as the broad blond continues to cry, the teardrops leaking out of his eyes, meaningful, desperate, lonely, crumpled.

Eventually, the bartender finds himself in the bar stool next to Manu with his arms around the blond, patting the small of his back and whispering countless memories and dreams and hopes and jokes and even mild gossip as the two men let time wash itself away.

Fourty-five minutes later, Manu untangles himself from the bartender's warm embrace.

They stare at each other for a moment, and Manu gets up, groping for his wallet.

"Don't worry about it, Manu, it's on my house."

"Please, let me pay, I am indebted to you for your time and your patience and your drink..."

"Oh, Manu, please, go home."

"It's not even midnight."

"But you are tired! You are weary, you are worn by the labors of emotion and of love and of heartbreak! Please go get some rest, Manu."

"No. I'm going to Thomas' party."

"But won't Ph-Philipp be there?"

Manu hesitates, doubt, guilt and uncertainty doing backflips across his mind, the emotions taking their tolls on his face as they flit across.

"That's okay. Fuck him."

"Good for you, Manuel, good for you. Have fun and please, please be careful, Manu. If something's wrong, call me at-"

But Manuel is already out the door, and the bartender is shaking his head as he picks up Manuel's glass, polishing it absentmindedly.

The bartender hopes that Manuel will live to see the dawn.

But for now, he puts away the crystal glass as if he was putting a small child to sleep (without the lullaby, of course). Sitting down on a black bar stool, he sighs as he watches the the light across the street glow and blink, endlessly asking for a memory, or perhaps an echo of a memory.

* * *

_So come on baby, won't you show some class_  
_Why do you have to move so fast?_  
_We don't have to take our clothes off_  
_To have a good time_  
_Oh no_  
_We could dance & party all night _  
_And drink some cherry wine_  
_Oh, oh_  
-Ella Eyre, We Don't Have to Take Our Clothes 

Thomas' house in Munich can be seen from nearly half-a-mile away tonight-the lights are _that_ bright. Manu struggle to park his car as he nears Thomas' house-it seems that the entire road has been filled up, end to end, with cars of all shapes, colors and sizes. Manu decides that he'd rather walk than get fined by the local police for parking in the wrong spot.

Walking past nearly hundreds of cars and dwelling on just one thought (will he see that I have cried?), Manu finally reaches Thomas' oak door. There is a couple at the entryway-each are in various shades of undress and you the girl seems to be nearly twenty years younger than her counterpart. Completely ignorant and uncaring of Manuel's presence, they continue to kiss feverishly, and before Manuel can lose his entire dinner from nearly five hours before, a slightly-drunk but mostly normal Thomas opens the door.

"Oh, hello, Manu. Aren't you a little late? The party started at four..."

"You look like absolute shit. More like sound like absolute shit."

"Sheiße, Manuel, stop screaminggggg..."

"Oh, god you're drunk. And I have nowhere to bring you...oh, hello, Miro."

Miroslav Klose looks far better than his other half-hair still sculpted, breath still minty, still genuine as fuck.

"Hello, Manu. I was going to get the door but I had to yell at a couple engaging in oral sex in the shower."

"Oh, that's okay, I certainly understand."

Manuel doesn't understand why Miro seems so put together even though people are having sex in their porch by the looks of what the couple behind Manu is doing and their consistent moaning and also throwing around blowjobs but somehow, being Miro, he manages. 

The two men share a silence, aware that the silence is really just night air between them interlaced with the sharp moaning and groaning of the couple behind Manu.

Awkwardly, Manu opens his mouth, and then closes it again. Miro watches him for a second, as if attempting to dissect why he has shown up. Philipp already has a new boyfriend, and is currently making out with this Robert Levanrowski or something guy in the study that only Miro uses to do the taxes.

"Aren't you going to come in?"

"Only if you want me to."

"Of course! You're Thomas' best friend, his shoulder to cry on! If only he was that emotionally dependent on me..."

Miro mimes jealousy and Manu can only flash a weak smile; his insides are churning with dread that Philipp has already moved on; that Philipp had gotten over Manu that quickly.

Miro pulls the sleepy and smiling Thomas up and starts to walk him towards the staircase. Before he leaves, he shoots one more comment at Manu:

"Don't go in the study, darling."

Somehow, Manu knows. Manu knows that Philipp is there, making out or worse with some random hot guy who definitely can make him feel loved, somebody that _doesn't_ work eleven hours a day. Still, he feels broken.

Was he really that pathetic that Philipp could discard him so easily?

Discard him as if he was worth nothing?

What if Philipp had lied when he had said he loved Manu back?

What if Philipp had been sick of Manu for the entire year they had been together?

What if they had been lying to themselves the whole time?

No, Manu told himself, he had loved Philipp.

Then why did Philipp not understand?

Why did Philipp not understand that he had loved Philipp, that he had wanted to be with Philipp?

Was it that Philipp had not loved him, not now, not ever?

That those nights in blankets and those mornings in snow were...nothing?

A distant memory, a faded echo, an accusing lie?

Had he been starved from real love, real affection for as long as he could remember?

No, of course not. Philipp had loved him, right?

No.

Perhaps Manu has been lying to himself that Philipp loves him back, and perhaps Philipp never wanted to tell him.

Tell him the truth.

So it had been a lie, a misconception, a mistake.

Sick to his stomach, Manu finds his way into Thomas' living room, where there is at least a hundred people. Grinding up on each other, sweat rolling, the dancers move as a hundred and as one. The DJ is posted on a high platform and continues to grind out EDM hit after EDM hit as the crowd revels in the ecstasy of a party. Somehow, Manu finds a spot on Thomas' beige couch, which has already been stained by red wine and other suspicious liquids. A couple is probably one shade away from having full out public sex next to Manu, and they completely ignore him. Still, he sits down, watching the party.

How can they have so much fun? How can they feel so happy?

He finds a pair of familiar faces, Bastian and Lukas, and by some unknown force, they see him too and weave through the crowd to where he is. They look drunk, but controllable, and, to Manu's simultaneous joy and disgust, absolutely elated to be here, and be happy, and be okay with their lives.

"Hallo, Manu!"

Bastian's words are slightly slurred, but Manu doesn't care.

"Hello, Bastian. How are you and Lukas doing?"

How he can create small talk in an environment where people are seemingly high or drunk or having sex he has no idea, but they continue.

"O, the hase is just a liiiiiittle drunk, but that's okayyyyy..."

"I am your hase, Bastian? That's so niiiiiice of you to sayyyyyy..."

"Woah, he's drunk."

"Yeah, but it's a party, Manu! You're s'pposed to be a little drunk..."

"You should go home. Do you want me to drive you?"

Lukas butts in before Bastian can reply.

"Heyyy Manu, did you, did you, did you know that Bastian and Tototobias are brothers? BROTHERS! Isn't that soooo cool?"

Bastian, though slightly drunk himself, assumes a worried look but tells Manu not to worry, they're going to stay for a while longer.

Manu agrees, and somehow Bastian is able to drag his drunk lover back to the dance floor.

Not long after so-called Schweinski's departure, Manu is swimming in an ocean of desperate thoughts.

What if Philipp sees him here and thinks that he is desperate to get back together?

But he is desperate! What's wrong with being honest?

Everything is wrong, he screams to himself, everything is wrong.

If Philipp sees he is desperate, he will use it against Manu. He will hurl the words like blocks of cement, like metal spears and sharpened arrows.

He will scream that it's Manu's fault for ignoring the letters and the phone calls and the emails and the flowers...

The flowers, which always had notes that said _I love you_ and _Please call me_.

_I miss you_ was also a contender for the most frequent message.

Those were the worst, because they reminded Manu of forgotten nights and sunkissed mornings, jars of Nutella and bits of life that are called memories.

Good memories.

And with the good memories came the guilt and the doubt and the confusion, the undying damn voice that screamed, _you need to go talk to him_.

All of the sudden, Manuel feels a hand on his shoulder, a broad hand, a man's hand no less. Looking up, he sees none other than the face of one Benedikt Höwedes.

Benedikt.

The coworker that he had shared countless cups of coffee with. The coworker that was in the adjacent office to his at the office. The coworker that he had ignored when he was stressed and the coworker that he had turned to when he was upset.

The coworker that had laid blankets on Manuel when Manu fell asleep working late into the nights, the coworker that always knew when anything was wrong just by a twitch of Manuel's eyebrows or the slightest fidget.

What if he had screwed it all up?

What if he should have dumped Philipp ten months ago and pursued this sweetheart?

The sweetheart that was looking at him with the utmost genuine worried expression.

"Manu, are you okay? I heard about Philipp breaking it off, are you doing okay?"

"Oh, I'm fine, don't worry about me."

"You look like you're not fine. Please, Manu, tell me what I can do to help."

"God, why do you have to care? Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"Because I care about you, and I want you to be happy."

Bitterly, Manu throws the most hateful words he can think of.

"Nobody wants to be around a fucking idiot like you."

"Manu, please don't shrug me off. I care about you, please talk to me."

'No, go the fuck away."

"Okay."

And with that, he relinquishes his grip on Manu's shoulder and he starts pushing through the crowd but not without looking back to see if there is any sign of regret on Manu's face.

Get it the fuck together, Manu tells himself. If you let Benedikt see that you care about him too, you're fucking dead.

Within a matter of seconds, Benedikt has been swallowed by the crowd, and Manuel is alone again.

Not physically, the couple that is having almost-public sex is still going at it right next to him, but emotionally.

There is no one there for him anymore.

He is alone with the what-ifs, again.

What if Miro had never met Thomas? What if they had never gotten married, and they were broken just like Manu was now? If they never got married, then this party wouldn't have happened, and Manu could keep ignoring Benedikt at the office without feeling anything. But now...now he had to face Benedikt guilty and doubtful, questioning of their relationship, questioning whether one would quit because of the other. The what-ifs hurt just as much as the reality, because both seem real and possible. And real and possible is the scariest form of anything. 

All of the sudden, the lights go out. The dancing stops abruptly and several people scream. But within three minutes, buckets of fluorescent neon paint is being passed around and flashlights are switched on. The party continues on, the DJ pulling out a backup generator for the speakers. The shadows start their dances too, leaping and kicking against the starkly blank, pale wall. The dancers are illuminated by portable flashlights and the blue-neon paint, which casts off an eerie glow.

As Manuel's eyes adjust to the darkness, he finds that he is not alone.

There is someone sitting next to him-or rather, sitting between him and the couple engaging in almost-public sex.

The familiar voice rings out over the DJ's work and the drunken shouts, the generic yells of ectasy and moans of pleasure.

"You didn't think I would leave you alone did you?"

"For fuck's sake, Höwedes! Stay away from me! I don't want to have sex with you or be your boyfriend or anything!"

"You think I'm here for sex? For love?"

"Yeah, isn't that why we're all here?"

"No. Why are you here?"

"Because...because..."

Manuel is suddenly at a loss for words.

Why is he here?

Why is he here?

Why is he here?

He doesn't know why he's here.

To support Thomas?

No.

Of course not, because if that was true, he should have arrived seven hours ago.

To apologize to Philipp?

No.

Because...because he doesn't love Philipp.

Not anymore.

He is broken, but not in love.

He doesn't know why he is here.

The bartender told him not to come.

So why is he here?

"See? You have no idea why you're here."

"What about you then? Why are you _here_?"

"Because I wanted to see if you were here."

"So you're here because you wanted to fuck me."

"No."

"Then you're here because you want me to fuck you."

"No. I'm not here for sex, Manuel."

"Then you're lonely and you want to talk to someone."

"I'm not lonely."

"You're always alone."

"But that doesn't mean I'm lonely. Lonely and alone are two very different things."

Manuel thinks about this, and decides that Benedikt is right.

"Shouldn't you be with Mats, then? I've heard he has a huge fancy for you."

"Mats and I broke it off two weeks ago."

"Oh. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want you to worry. Just like why you didn't tell me about Philipp."

"Who said I didn't tell you about Philipp to make sure you didn't worry?"

"Are you saying you didn't do that?"

Manuel is trapped, now. He either has to tell Benedikt he cares about him or he doesn't.

"I..."

"You what?"

"Okay, fine, maybe just a little bit."

Benedikt smiles a little, happy that he is victorious in some degree.

"But it still doesn't explain why you are here with me, Benedikt."

"Because I needed to teach you something."

"What? That you could rub in the fact that I care about you."

"So you do care about me."

Benedikt smiles, a real smile, a smile that, even though it is dark around them and the night is consuming, Manuel can see in full clarity.

"Yeah," Manuel replies, blushing.

Good thing it's dark, or Benedikt will see me blushing, Manuel says to himself.

"You're blushing."

Stop blushing! Manuel is screaming to himself, admonishing his base instinct. He just turns redder.

"I think it's adorable."

"Whatever. You said that you had to teach me something?"

"Yeah."

"So...?"

"Manuel, we don't have to take our clothes off to have a good time."

"Is that it?"

"No, listen. Sometimes...it's not about sex, or pleasure, or even love, but really it's about having someone there. Someone like _me_ who cares about you, Manuel."

"You really care about me?"

"Obviously."

Manuel thinks for a bit, and stands up, reaching out a hand to Benedikt.

"Want to dance?"

Now it's Benedikt's turn to blush.

"Sure."

And together, they join hands and Manuel leads Benedikt to the dance floor.

Together, they slow dance, Manuel's head against Benedikt's shoulder despite the two inch height difference.

Amidst the drunken revelers, Benedikt and Manuel dance the night away, cool, romantic, and calm.

Together, they create a memory of light in the dark.

**Author's Note:**

> I do hope that you enjoyed it. Constructive Criticism is always welcome, as long as it isn't violent (harsh is okay though).
> 
> If you liked Ella Eyre's cover, you can download it for free through her [SoundCloud link](https://soundcloud.com/thevibeguide/ella-eyre-we-dont-have-to-take). I recommend checking out her other music, because I'm quite in love with it :P
> 
> Gifted to the wonderful tempered_rose as I was led to AO3 originally due to a beautiful fic series she wrote known as The Pausenclown's Boyfriend. I've attached it as my inspiration (thought it wasn't directly inspired by that one) :)  
> Sarah, darling, if you're reading this, I will admit to you that I was one of the people who requested way too many stories from you, and perhaps two or three of the ones I asked for you posted, to which I must say I owe you extreme gratitude and feel great admiration as you take time out of your day to make your audience feel pleasure or pain or whatever you wish to convey (I've noticed you have a perfect record for that :P)
> 
> Max, thank you for adding your touches and being my beta :) I am grateful for you to no end; I should credit you as a coauthor considering the amount of work you put into this but I can't because you don't have an AO3 account (*cough* get one! *cough*)
> 
> M'kay, well, if you guys like this, perhaps I will write a sequel or something like this again :P
> 
> Update: The sequel can be found [here](/works/2240610). Hope it's satisfying :)
> 
> -Leon


End file.
